


Neither Here Nor There

by FelOllie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic-ish description of pain, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Loss, Mentioned Kate Argent, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelOllie/pseuds/FelOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yeah." Stiles ran a hand through hair he hadn't washed in days, not since he'd come home from his dad's to find the loft littered with shotgun shells, black blood staining the floor and the heavy scent of wolfsbane cloyingly thick in the air, with Derek nowhere to be found. "We'll get him back. But..."</p><p>"What?" Scott asked, crossing the floor to stand before Stiles, lifting a comforting hand to his best friend's shoulder.</p><p>Stiles met Scott's eyes, his own orbs glittering with terrified tears. "What if he's just ash by then?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Here Nor There

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Sterek AU where Stiles and Derek are married, they get hitched right after the nogitsune shit, and then Derek is turned back into bb!derek by the evil spell or w/e it is. Stiles and Derek live together in the loft and suddenly Stiles is ~taking care~ of his too-young husband instead of being taken care of by his sweet loving hubby. And after Derek comes back into himself he is so sweet and apologetic to Stiles because while he was bb!der he didn’t remember Stiles at all/know who he was.
> 
> Author's note: So, I fiddled with the timeline for this. Derek is taken in the exact same way he was in the 3b finale. Things went down exactly like that here, except that Stiles is 21 and Derek is 27. Okay? Okay.

"I honestly could not care less. I give zero fucks about what Argent wants us to do." Stiles snapped, his tone razor sharp. "This isn't just some random wolf we're talking about. It's Derek, Scott! We are talking about my husband!"

"I know, man, but we have to be careful." Scott said patiently, his big brown puppy eyes wide with understanding as he watched Stiles pace, angry and distraught, around the loft.

"Fuck careful! I'm gonna rip that bitch's throat out." Stiles all but snarled.

Scott frowned, wondering if Stiles realized just how wolfish he looked in moments like these. "Look, it's not like Chris is asking for a lot. Twenty-four hours, Stiles."

"Alright, say he finds her." Stiles bit out, his jaw grinding painfully. "Do you honestly believe he's capable of killing his own sister? After everything he's lost? Scott, his wife is dead. His father is dead. His daughter... Allison is dead." It was a low blow and Stiles knew it but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. Not when Kate was out there somewhere. Not when the woman who decimated the Hale pack now had one of only three remaining born Hales in her claws. Not when Kate had Derek.

Scott's eyes flashed red despite himself, the now familiar ache in his chest flaring to life at the reminder. "Chris will do whatever he has to do. We're going to get Derek back, Stiles. I swear to God, I'll get him back."

"Yeah." Stiles ran a hand through hair he hadn't washed in days, not since he'd come home from his dad's to find the loft littered with shotgun shells, black blood staining the floor and the heavy scent of wolfsbane cloyingly thick in the air, with Derek nowhere to be found. "We'll get him back. But..."

"What?" Scott asked, crossing the floor to stand before Stiles, lifting a comforting hand to his best friend's shoulder.

Stiles met Scott's eyes, his own orbs glittering with terrified tears. "What if he's just ash by then?"

 

*

 

It turned out to be less than the twenty-four hours Chris requested. A lot less.

Eight hours after Scott had forced Stiles to shower, six from the moment Stiles had fallen into his and Derek's bed in an ineffectual bid for sleep where he had instead tried casting locator spell after locator spell, none of which seemed to be effective, and half an hour after the Sheriff's number had shown up on Scott's caller ID, Scott was following a running Stiles into the veterinary clinic. As soon as they crossed the threshold the scent of fresh magic, a sharp blend of ozone and earthiness, made Scott sneeze. Stiles didn't stop, shoving his way into the back without a second thought. Scott heard Stiles' heart rate stutter and skip at the same moment he realized Stiles had stopped walking. The scent of fear and confusion wafted back, reaching Scott's twitching nose.

"What is it?" he asked as he skittered to a stop beside Stiles. Scott let his eyes sweep the space, taking in the sight of Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski standing beside the exam table. Stiles wasn't looking at his father or the vet, though. His attention was solely focused on the teenager lying unconscious on the table between them. Scott's brow furrowed, his head tilting in question.

"Are you... You can't... What the fuck?" Stiles half shouted, his arms flailing around him as he took a step further into the room.

"Stiles, son, I need you to calm down." the Sheriff put a hand out to halt Stiles' steps.

"I don't understand." Scott admitted, sniffing surreptitiously at the air to try and figure out what was happening, why Stiles was so upset. "I though you said you found Derek."

"They did." Stiles muttered, his tone incredulous as he stared at the prone form on the metal table.

Scott looked from the teen to Deaton, his confusion written plainly on his face.

Deaton stepped forward, nodding to Scott to let him know that he was going to explain. Before he could, however, Stiles snapped his gaze up. "What happened to him? How did... Did Kate do this?" he asked, reaching tentatively forward to brush his fingers along the teenager's arm where it lay unmoving by his side. "She's not a witch. Is she?"

"Kate Argent is not a witch." Deaton assured them. "But, her dual nature does afford her some form of magic. All who have the ability to shift, who belong to the supernatural, they each hold a certain amount of magic within them. Not many have learned to access it beyond shifting, but it is possible."

"So, Kate figured out how to access her magic and used it to turn my husband into a teenager?" Stiles queried waspishly. "Why? What does she accomplish by-"

"Wait a minute. _That's_ Derek?" Scott guffawed, pointing at the teenager. "Seriously?"

"You can't tell?" Stiles questioned. "Can't you smell him or something? He's younger but it's still Derek."

Scott shook his head but inhaled again anyway. Stiles was right, after all. Beneath the scent of magic and something feline, the teenager definitely smelled like Derek. Forest and pack and Stiles, the slightest hints of watermelon and dusty sunshine. The only thing missing was the light tang of smoke that usually made up part of his scent. "How old is he?" Scott asked, tipping his chin at Derek.

"My guess is around sixteen." Deaton said ominously.

Derek stirred on the table, a rumbling groan vibrating in the back of his throat. Stiles glanced at Deaton in alarm, but the older man was calm and collected when he approached the table.

"Derek? Can you hear me?" the vet asked softly, his tone soothing and gentle.

Derek's eyes fluttered open and he winced at the bright light. The Sheriff shifted the exam light away from the table, and Derek blinked a few times to clear his vision.

"Dr. Deaton?" he asked, his expression shifting into puzzlement.

"Yes, Derek." Deaton smiled benignly. "I'm afraid you've had a bit of a mishap. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Derek frowned, his young face free of the lines that usually crinkled around his mouth when he did. "Everything is kind of fuzzy. My head is pounding."

"Take your time." Deaton allowed before lifting his head. "Scott, would you please get Derek a cup of water? I'm sure he's quite thirsty."

Derek let his eyes fall closed again, lifting a hand to scrub it over his face. Stiles stood beside his father, a few steps away from the table, within reach if Derek needed him but far enough away to let him figure out what was happening inside his own head. When Scott returned from the sink he handed a tiny paper cup to Derek, who had propped himself up at the end of the table. When their fingers brushed, Derek's eyes flared brilliant blue and Scott's flashed Alpha Red in response.

"You're an Alpha." Derek said warily. He shot a curious, dubious look over his shoulder at Stiles and the Sheriff but dismissed them quickly, returning his gaze to the Alpha in the room.

"I am." Scott nodded.

No one noticed the slam of Stiles' heart against his ribs.

"Derek, can you remember anything at all?" Deaton asked, pressing as delicately as he could while still making it clear that Derek needed to answer.

Derek was silent for a long moment, and then he nodded, his gaze flicking between Scott and Deaton. "I was coming home from... Hanging out with a friend." The tips of his ears flushed pink and Stiles' heart jackrabbitted, hard and heavy.

"Derek, I need you to be honest with me." Deaton said, stern but kind. "Was that friend Kate Argent?"

Derek's eyes widened, all the color draining from his face, and Stiles' heart stopped beating all together.

 

*

 

"You okay?" the Sheriff asked softly, leaning beside his son against his cruiser in the clinic's parking lot.

Stiles snorted. "Oh yeah, I'm just great, Dad. Never been better."

John sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Deaton will fix this, kid. Give it a little bit of time."

Stiles pushed off from the car, turning on his father with tears burning his eyes once more. "Dad, he lost the last eleven years of his life! He went to sleep and his entire family was safe and sound, and he woke up to nothing. Everyone he knew is dead, except for Cora and Peter and even Peter was dead at one point. Can you imagine? Having to hear that your family is gone, has been for over ten years, and you're supposed to be a twenty-seven year old instead of the sixteen year old you were the last time you blinked? I mean, fuck... He has no idea who Scott is, or the rest of the pack. I'm his husband, Dad, and he has no idea who I am."

Stiles was openly crying by then, tears streaking down his face as he tried to pull himself together. His father could do nothing, could say absolutely nothing, to make the whole thing any easier on his son. Instead of trying, he simply tugged Stiles into his chest and let him cry.

 

*

 

Stiles would be forever grateful to Deaton for being the one to break all the bad news to Derek. And, to Scott, as well, for using the pack bond to keep Derek from falling apart completely. Even from the parking lot Derek's mournful howl was piercing, a painful, bone shaking sound that made Stiles feel like someone had scooped out all of his insides with a molten hot shovel. And, he wanted nothing more than to be in there, to be beside Derek when he found out about his family, about Kate. Stiles wanted to sit beside Derek, wrap his arms around his shoulders and let him mourn the loss of nearly every person he'd ever loved.

But he couldn't.

Derek had no idea who Stiles was. Sure, he knew Sheriff Stilinksi had a son. But the last time he'd seen him the kid was a babbling ball of energy no older than ten. There was no way hee was the twenty-one year old man who stood in the vet's clinic, wide golden eyes full of pain and longing that Derek didn't understand.

No. It was easier this way. Things would be easier on Derek if Stiles allowed Scott and Deaton to handle it. So, Stiles kept himself huddled inside his Jeep, flipping Derek's wedding ring between his fingers, thankful that his father had thought enough to remove it.

 

*

 

"This is not you handling it, Scott!" Stiles whisper-shouted, flinching when Derek's gaze whipped around and landed solidly on him.

"Deaton said that bringing Derek home, to his own territory, was the best thing to do. He needs something familiar, something that's his. Come on, man." Scott pouted, employing his best, guilt tripiest look. "I know this isn't easy." Stiles huffed a pained sound in his throat. "Okay, yeah. It's got to be really hard for you, having him here but not... Having him here. Just... This is the best thing for him right now."

Stiles sighed, scratching at his chin as he watched Derek move around inside the loft, his eyes leaping from surface to surface, his nose lifted to the air while he tried to pick out scents. "No, I get it. You're right. But how the fuck am I supposed to explain any of this to him?"

Scott shrugged, a thoughtful frown turning down the corners of his mouth. "I have no idea. Don't tell him anything unless he asks?"

"Of course he's going to ask! This entire loft smells like me, like us. You don't think he's going to wonder why?" Stiles asked in a whisper as Derek stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, looking up as though pondering his right to climb it.

"I can hear you guys, you know that right?" Derek called over his shoulder, his eyebrows lifted in question.

"That's my cue." Scott slapped a palm to Stiles back. "I'll call you in the morning."

"Wait!" Stiles yelled after Scott's retreating back, to no avail.

Growling under his breath, Stiles slid the loft door closed with a clang and sank down onto the topmost step, cradling his head in his hands and willing his heart into some semblance of a normal rhythm.

"Are you afraid of me?" Derek asked, his tone heavily amused.

Stiles snorted. "No. Not anymore, at least. Why?"

"You're heart hasn't stopped racing since we left Dr. Deaton's clinic. Plus, you smell like fear." Derek cocked his head to one side in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Scott.

"Well, yeah, I mean of course I'm afraid." Stiles shrugged, setting his chin on his knees. "Kate's dead, again, and we have no idea what she did to turn you into... You. Or why she did it at all. I'm afraid you're going to be stuck like this for the rest of forever."

"You..." Derek frowned, his eyebrows drawing together. "You care about me."

"Smell that too, do you?" Stiles picked self-consciously at imaginary lint on his jeans, not making eye contact.

"Sort of." Derek admitted. "Your scent is muddled with too many emotions to really pick out any one single feeling. I just kind of... Feel it, I guess? I mean, you still smell like pack, and like me, so I guess we must spend a lot of time together. We wouldn't do that if we didn't at least like each other."

Stiles nodded tightly before shoving himself to his feet, fighting to mask his heartbeat despite knowing it was futile. "Right. Well, let me change the sheets and then you can have the bed. I'll crash on the couch. Deaton said he'd call when he found something so, until then, I guess we just wing it."

 

*

 

Stiles was wrapped up in the comforter from his and Derek's bed, wanting the familiar scent of them to hold onto while he tried to get some sleep. He tossed and turned on the sofa, now remembering why they needed to buy a new one. Staring blankly into the darkness, Stiles tried to will himself to sleep.

After the whole nogitsune thing Deaton started teaching Stiles how to use his spark. There were a lot of things he'd learned since then; How to block his scent, how to shield himself from the pack bond, how to ward off nightmares. Then there were the tactical things, both offense and defense, that Stiles could employ at will. He'd helped save the pack's collective ass on more than one occasion by embracing his spark.

Of course, most of the things Stiles could do with his spark had no effect with Derek. Even if he masked his scent and lost himself in the woods, Derek could find him. If Stiles wanted to hide an emotion from the pack, he could. But, never from Derek. Something about their mate bond nullified Stiles' limited magical abilities.

It may not have been time to battle but Deaton had taught Stiles everything he had for a reason. So, he tried to use one of the incantations for sleep that he only used when absolutely necessary. He was mumbling the words under his breath, not having to say them aloud but used to doing it anyway, and rubbing at the friction smoothed skin where his wedding band normally sat, when Derek's footsteps padded down the staircase.

"Stiles?" he asked softly.

"What's up?" Stiles levered himself up at the waist, able to make out the vague shape of the teenager at the bottom of the steps by the light filtering through the giant window.

"Can... Would you... I can't sleep." Derek grumbled, tugging at the hem of his too big t-shirt.

"Welcome to the club, dude." Stiles huffed humorlessly.

"The bed," Derek gestured upstairs, "smells like both of us."

"Oh." Stiles swallowed around the knot in his throat. "Yeah, sorry. I thought changing the sheets would get rid of most of that."

"It's not the sheets." Derek shook his head, his eyes cast down. "The mattress is saturated with our combined scent. So, I thought... Would you mind?"

Stiles didn't need this. He really did not need to sleep beside his currently sixteen year old husband with memories of his twenty-seven year old husband clawing at his brain. He didn't need that kind of torture.

"Yeah, no. We can do that." Stiles nodded as he struggled off the couch.

Once they were settled in, Stiles firmly on one side of the bed with Derek on the other, Derek seemed to relax a little. "You have magic." he noted. When Stiles hesitated, he added, "It's pouring out of your skin."

"Yeah." Stiles shrugged. "Just a little though. I can only do the basic shit right now, but Deaton's teaching me to do more."

Derek was positive that Stiles had no idea how much power he actually possessed. "You're Scott's emissary?" he asked.

"Sort of?" Stiles' mouth curved down. "That's the ultimate goal, I guess. Deaton picks up the slack, though. And, trust me, there is lots of slack to be had."

Silence fell between them for so long that Stiles thought Derek had fallen asleep. Until Derek shifted closer and whispered, "Stiles?" again.

"Hmm?" Stiles hummed, turning his face toward Derek's side of the bed.

"Are we... Together?" Derek asked hesitantly, his eyes glowing faintly blue in the dark.

Stiles knew this was coming. If Scott and Deaton thought Derek couldn't put two and two together, they were sorely mistaken. But, Stiles knew. His and Derek's scents were tied together now, after all. Even though Derek was young, Stiles was sure the werewolf knew what linked scents meant. He might not recognize the mate bond, might explain it away as a really tight pack bond, but there was no way he wouldn't notice the other million little things that screamed out their relationship status.

Derek was clever when he allowed himself to trust his instincts, when he wasn't busy second guessing himself. Without all the baggage he'd built up after the fire, without the knowledge that Kate had used him as a catalyst for her psychotic scheme, Derek apparently felt more comfortable listening to his own mind.

"Yes." Stiles confirmed, not seeing the point in lying to the kid.

Derek seemed to ponder that for a few moments. "How long?" he asked.

"Since I turned eighteen. I think we started before that, but neither of us were brave enough to act on it until then." Stiles smiled as he remembered.

"So, this is our loft, not mine?"

"It started out as yours." Stiles chuckled. "You lived here for almost three years before I moved in. But yeah. Now it's ours."

"It smells like family." Derek yawned, his jaw cracking.

"The pack spends a lot of time here." Stiles allowed. "You can meet them tomorrow. Right now, you should probably sleep. You've been through a lot."

"Can I...?" Derek asked, reaching out to snag Stiles' t-shirt, giving it a tug.

Stiles rolled his eyes, smiling at the absurdity of his husband having to ask for cuddles. He looped an arm around Derek's shoulders, dragging him closer. Derek tucked himself to Stiles' side, their feet tangling together. With a sigh and something that might have been a happy growl, Derek snuggled in and closed his eyes.

Stiles was out like a light less than five minutes later.

 

*

 

"Is it weird?" Kira asked softly, her voice low enough that it didn't carry across the loft to where the rest of the pack was huddled around Derek, each of them touching him to reaffirm their scent on his skin, trying to cover up the lingering wisps of Kate's scent.

Stiles watched Derek smile at his pack, drinking in the comfort of having people who cared even if he couldn't remember any of them. If not for the pack, Stiles knew, the news of his entire family being gone would have wrecked a vulnerable teenage Derek.

"Which part?" Stiles glanced sideways at Kira, his eyes flicking right back to Derek.

"Any of it. All of it." she shrugged.

Stiles chewed his bottom lip, grinning when Scott tried to explain to Derek who Malia was. Derek's eyes narrowed on the coyote for a beat and Stiles could only imagine what was running through his head in that moment. Whatever it was, Derek apparently decided she smelled enough like family that there was no need to question it.

"I'd be lying if I said any of this was normal." Stiles answered Kira, only to hear her snort. "But, Derek's safe and that's all I can care about right now. Until Deaton finds a way to fix it there's not much any of us can do. I'm doing my own research, of course, but... It's funny, you know? I suddenly have a much clearer understanding of how Derek must have felt when I was sixteen and he was the 'adult'."

"Feel like a pervert yet?" Isaac nudged Stiles with his shoulder, having disentangled himself from the pack huddle.

"Little bit." Stiles laughed.

Derek's eyes shot up at the sound, his gaze landing on Stiles unerringly, his face relaxing into a crooked smirk.

"Here's hoping you have half the restraint he did." Isaac shook his head, laughter making his blue eyes shine brightly.

Stiles snorted attractively. "Here's hoping."

 

*

 

Three days. Three days of Stiles reminding himself that Derek was sixteen and therefore didn't need a babysitter. Three days of Stiles worrying over him anyway, making sure he ate and spent time with whichever pack members he could talk into stopping by, making sure he used his brain for more than video games and basketball. Three days of constant proximity and two more nights of sharing a bed because neither of them could sleep apart.

Three days and nothing had changed. Neither Deaton nor Lydia had found anything even remotely capable of explaining what caused Derek's current situation, much less how to fix it. And between work, pack stuff, and dealing with a stubborn sixteen year old, neither had Stiles.

Working from home was something that Stiles normally loved. He was his own boss, after all. Running his own business allowed him the freedom to deal with pack stuff whenever he needed to without running the risk of losing his job. Not to mention, who didn't love being able to do their job while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers? It was a dream come true, really.

Except right at that moment, an extremely bored sixteen year old was bouncing a basketball at one end of the loft, the sound grating on Stiles' nerves like a pumice stone. The faint buzz of music carried from the headphones Derek was wearing, making Stiles wonder how the hell the dude had eardrums at all given how loud the volume was.

Being cooped up in the loft for three days straight was taking its toll. But, they couldn't really go far. There were more than enough people in town who might recognize young Derek. His family had been a pillar in the community before the fire. Everyone knew the Hales. Therefore, the chances were high of someone realizing that Derek went from a tall, dark and brooding twenty-seven year old, to a tall, dark and adorably smirking sixteen year old who Stiles wanted to simultaneously strangle and make-out with. Sue him, okay?

They hadn't spent so much time in each others pockets, without breaks, in years. Stiles found himself wondering if he'd been this annoying when he was teenager, before quickly dismissing that because he knew for fact that he'd been much worse. The only up side was that Derek annoying the fuck out of Stiles allowed him to resist the urge to press the kid into their mattress, or against a wall, or down onto the nearest flat surface, or...

Yeah, maybe sexual frustration was part of the reason Stiles was so on edge.

"Come on." Stiles snapped, shoving himself away from his desk. He crossed the room to snatch his keys from the coffee table, raising an expectant brow at Derek when he gave him a look that was equal parts amused smirk and curiosity. Stiles waved a hand at Derek, motioning for him to take out his headphones.

"What?" Derek asked, bouncing his basketball at his feet.

"You are driving me fucking nuts, dude." Stiles pulled out his phone, sending out a group text while he ranted. "We're going to the preserve."

Derek missed the basketball on its return bounce, his eyes fixed on Stiles and his mouth falling open in distress.

It took Stiles a second to realize what had upset him, but when he did he felt like a world class dickhead. "Shit. Derek, I'm sorry." he took a few steps closer, sliding his phone back into his pocket and reaching out to wrap his hand around the back of Derek's neck. "We're not going to be near the house, okay? There's a field on the other side, I'm sure you know which one, that we usually use for training. I thought... Well, I thought you could use some time outside, to let your wolf out."

Derek nodded, swallowing tightly. "Right. Yeah, that's... It's fine."

Stiles sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I'm an asshole. Do you want to go somewhere else? My dad's maybe? Or, Scott and Kira's. They have a yard that edges on the woods, we could-"

"Stiles." Derek interrupted. "I'm fine. The preserve is fine. It might do me some good, you know?" He shifted awkwardly on his feet, "Being on my family's land could help somehow."

Stiles squeezed the back of Derek's neck, giving him a sharp nod. "Okay." He pulled Derek under his arm and tugged him toward the door. "Let's go."

 

*

 

The entire pack was already assembled by the time Stiles and Derek got there. Scott and Kira were sparring with Isaac and Malia, Peter was standing off to one side engaged in some kind of discussion with Danny and Jackson, and Lydia was heading right for Stiles, her eyes glittering with something Stiles had come to recognize as her "I know something you don't know" expression.

"Go." Stiles pushed Derek away, feeling the kid vibrating beside him with the need to shift and join the others.

Derek smiled, wide and excited, and took off at run. Stiles waited patiently for Lydia to reach him, leaning on the Jeep's grill to watch his pack.

"What did you find?" Stiles asked as soon as Lydia was within speaking distance.

The redhead lifted a brow at him but she was smiling. "I think I might have figured out what Kate was up to."

"Do you know how to fix it?" he asked, pushing upright to give her his full attention.

"Jesus, Stiles. Can you let me tell you what I know?" Lydia put her hands on her hips, daring him to push her.

"Right. Yeah, sorry." Stiles mimed zipping his lips.

"There's a spell. It's supposed to allow the practitioner to travel from one set point to another."

"Time travel." Stiles balked.

"Not exactly." Lydia shook her head. "As its written, the spell only enables you to go back to one specific moment in time. You can't go forward and if you fuck it up, that's it. The spell only works once."

"Okay. So, where was she trying to go? And what does this have to do with Derek?" Stiles questioned, his mind running a million miles a minute.

"My guess?" When Stiles nodded, Lydia continued. "I think she was trying to go back to the night she set the Hale fire. Maybe she wanted to make sure she actually succeeded in killing all of them this time, or maybe she just wanted to do it all over again. Either way, I think she screwed up somewhere along the way. Instead of going back, she brought that Derek forward." she said, jerking her head at where Derek was caught in Scott's headlock.

"So, where's our Derek then?"

"I think he's here, actually." At Stiles confused look, Lydia tried her best to explain. "Look, two identical incarnations can't occupy the same space at the same time. It goes against the rules of magic and the rules of nature. But, both Derek's share the same energy. It's identical. If teenage Derek was sucked into our time his energy had to go somewhere. Where better than into his own, admittedly much older, self? It's not like teenage Derek is an actual, physical being, Stiles. He's more of a consciousness, a projection of who our Derek used to be. "

Stiles let that sink in, processing it through his brain before even trying to respond. "So, basically what you're saying is that Derek, my husband Derek, is here, has been here for the last four days? He's just stuck somewhere inside... Himself?"

"Basically? The mechanics are fuzzy but its the best I could come up with. Deaton and I think we might have a way to swap them back."

"Wait, what will happen to this Derek when we bring our Derek back?" Stiles needed to know, letting his eyes slide over to where Derek had managed to extricate himself from Scott only to turn around and be pinned by Malia.

"Nothing happens to him, really. He goes back to just being a memory."

Stiles didn't want to think about that. It sounded too final, too much like losing something. "What do we have to do?"

Lydia smiled, the expression sharp and knowing. "We use his anchor."

 

*

 

"Are you sure about this?" Derek asked, lingering close to Stiles' side while Deaton and Lydia moved around the now empty field, setting things up and positioning everything accordingly. "What if it hurts?"

Stiles wrapped and arm around Derek's shoulders, pulling him close and offering comfort. "I promise I won't let it hurt, Der. I'd never let anything hurt you, not if I could help it."

Derek nodded numbly, his throat closed and his chest aching. "I'm afraid." he whispered.

"I know." Stiles pressed a kiss to the kid's hair, closing his eyes and praying he could keep his promises. "But, I'm right here, okay? It's you and me, no matter what."

 

*

 

Nearly an hour had passed, during which the only pain experienced had been on Stiles end. The longer Lydia and Deaton chanted, the longer they worked to bring Derek back, the more Stiles' body ached. Every fiber of his being hurt, right down to his bone marrow. His nerves burned, his blood throbbed, every muscle felt tight and overextended. Somewhere behind his sternum, tucked deep within his ribcage, there was a pulling sensation. It felt like a giant hook was snared around his spine, tugging forward through his chest.

"Stiles?" Derek whined, worry and fear radiating off of him.

"I'm okay." Stiles panted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his free hand, tightening the fingers of the other around Derek's where they were entwined.

"No you're not. You're in pain." Derek growled as inky black lines snaked up his arm.

"Stop that!" Stiles demanded. "It's not that bad." It was that bad but Derek was already frightened and Stiles wouldn't pile onto that for anything.

Lydia and Deaton made a counterclockwise circle around them, chanting and calling forth power from somewhere Stiles couldn't think to focus on. His eyes were going hazy, his vision blurred and dark. The tugging sensation in his chest kicked up in intensity, forcing his back to bow without his permission. Stiles bit his lips closed to muffle the whimper building in his throat.

"They have to stop." Derek shuffled closer, his knees brushing Stiles'.

"No!" Stiles shook his head jerkily, struggling to draw strength from the earth beneath him. "I can do this."

Derek whined again, the sound reverberating in Stiles' head like a gong.

"I'm afraid _this_ will probably hurt." Deaton murmured apologetically.

Stiles didn't have time to brace, barely had enough time to tighten his hand in Derek's, when it hit. Stiles' spine felt like it was ripped through the front of his chest, singeing heat surged through his veins like wildfire, ravaging every artery, every capillary. A strangled scream gurgled in his chest, unable to get out around the gnarled mass of tissue that had once been his lungs.

"Stiles!" Derek cried out, lunging forward to catch him as he slumped back against the ground. "Stiles, please!"

White hot pain seared through him one last time and Stiles was swallowed by darkness, the sound of Derek's begging still ringing in his head.

 

*

 

Waking up had never been a more brutally painful experience. Stiles had the displeasure of some pretty epic hangovers in his life. He'd even had the occasional magical hangover after a long day of practicing with Deaton. He'd been wounded in pack battles, had a bullet dug out of his right shoulder thanks to some trigger happy hunter, and had run into his fair share of general injuries. So, Stiles knew pain. He and pain were old buddies by now.

Stiles had never felt pain like this.

He groaned raggedly, surprised that his voice even functioned around that much pain.

"Stiles?" a rough voice asked gently, warm fingers trailing along the curve of his cheek.

Stiles whined into the touch when he felt some of the pain dissipate. His eyelids blinked open slowly, his eyeballs feeling like they were made of sand. "Owwww." he moaned, rubbing the heel of his palm at his temple in an effort to soothe away some of the pulsing ache.

"How do you feel?" Derek questioned, his fingers probing delicately at Stiles' scalp.

"Like I got hit by a fucking tank." Stiles complained, letting Derek support the weight of his head while his eyes fluttered closed and he leaned back into a pair of wide, warm palms.

"Never again." Derek growled lowly, the vibration an alleviating balm that took the edge off the worst of Stiles' suffering. "Do you hear me? Never."

"I hear you, Der." Stiles breathed, having no energy to muster up the will to argue. "No more spells that burn me from the inside out. I got it." Derek snarled and Stiles bolted upright on the sofa, ignoring his body's adamant protests. "Derek!" he gasped and threw himself forward.

Derek caught him around the waist, lifting him into his chest enough so that Stiles' knees didn't collide solidly with the loft's concrete floor. "Hey." he smiled, burying his nose in the side of Stiles' neck and inhaling deeply.

"It worked!" Stiles pulled back, cupping Derek's face in his hands, shivering at the feel of dark stubble dragging at his skin. "You're back." he grinned, soft and relieved.

"I never left." Derek pulled Stiles in, pressing him into his chest and burying his nose back beneath his husband's ear. "I was me the whole time, I just couldn't remember anything about the last ten years. It was like part of my brain was just... Shut down." he muttered, his words muffled against Stiles' skin.

"Jesus, Derek." Stiles sagged against him, his fingers threaded weakly through Derek's hair. "I thought I'd never see you again. This you, you know? I missed you."

"I know." Derek nuzzled Stiles' neck, pressing soft kisses wherever he could reach. "You smelled like loss the whole time. Except when you smelled like lust, that it." he chuckled.

"Can't hold that against me." Stiles mumbled, his words slow and slurring as exhaustion caught up with him. "Was still you."

"It was still me." Derek agreed, pushing to his feet from the floor beside the couch and pulling Stiles up with him. "We can talk about it in the morning."

"Mhmm." Stiles hummed, going limp when Derek lifted him to carry him up the steps to their bedroom. "Talk."

"Talk in the morning." Derek smiled softly down at the top of Stiles' head. "Sleep now."

"Sleep." Stiles sighed, three quarters of the way there before Derek even reached the top step.

 

*

 

Stiles woke to sunlight glaringly bright through open curtains and an empty bed. His stomach plummeted, his heart stuttering before he could even think to cast out along the mate bond to see if he could feel his husband.

"I'm right here." Derek called from the doorway.

Stiles felt relief wash through him as he watched a pleasantly shirtless Derek carry two mugs of coffee across the room just to set them on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, angled toward Stiles, who immediately climbed into his lap.

Derek rubbed his cheek to the top of Stiles' head, rubbed his hands up and down his naked back. Stiles could have purred, he was so content. Instead, he snuggled as close as he could and dotted Derek's collarbone with lingering kisses.

"Deaton is going to stop by this afternoon to check on you. Your dad said to call him as soon as you wake up, and for me to remind you that this isn't an good enough excuse to get out of Sunday dinner." Derek informed him.

"Death is not a good enough excuse to escape Sunday dinners." Stiles grumbled, nibbling his way up Derek's throat.

"I thought you wanted to talk." Derek reminded him even as he tipped his head back, giving Stiles better access to his neck.

"Talk later." Stiles nipped at the sharp edge of Derek's jaw, lifting his left hand to curl it around Derek's neck. He paused, then frowned at his hand. "Did you... When did you do this?" he asked, using his thumb to fiddle with the wedding band now back in place on his ring finger.

"Right after I got you home and laid you on the couch." Derek showed him his own glinting ring. "I didn't like the way it felt to not be wearing them."

"Ugh." Stiles surged forward and crushed Derek's mouth under his. "Jesus fucking Christ, I missed you." he whimpered between kisses.

Derek slipped his hands down the curve of Stiles' ass, lifting him by the thighs as he flipped them, reversing their positions. Stiles laughed breathlessly when his back hit the mattress and the sound devolved into a moan when Derek's mouth captured his once more. Stiles' lips parted eagerly and Derek licked his way in, his tongue sliding and tangling smoothly with his husband's, with his mate's. Stiles caught Derek's bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and ripping a rumbling growl from Derek's chest.

"Come on, Derek." Stiles panted, arching off the bed and rolling his hips up to meet Derek's downward grind.

"What do you need, Stiles?" Derek asked, his voice burning. "Tell me what you need."

"You. Your hands. On me. Now." Stiles was too busy trying to shove Derek's briefs down his hips to worry about the hitch and whine in his tone. "Just fucking touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. Just-"

Derek cut him off, tearing a moan from his throat when he simultaneously bit hard at the slope of Stiles' neck and gripped his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

"Fuck." Stiles bucked into Derek's hand, his nails digging red welts down his back.

Derek licked and sucked at Stiles' throat while he worked his dick. Stiles writhed beneath him, all whimpering sighs and begging thrusts.

"I need to... Stiles." Derek choked on the words, his senses overwhelmed with Stiles and his instincts and the pure arousal that hung heavy in the air.

"Yes." Stiles nodded frantically, already lifting his pelvis to help Derek drag his boxers down and off. "Absolutely yes."

Derek plastered searing, open-mouthed kisses down Stiles' chest, leaving a smattering of purpling skin and tooth marks along the way. Stiles was a quivering mess when Derek finally wrapped his lips around his cock, swirling his tongue at the head to savor the tangy fluid already beaded there. Stiles keened when Derek's mouth enveloped him in velvet heat, cried out when Derek's throat fluttered around his head, nearly wailed when Derek pulled off. In less than a blink Derek was back at it, a finger slicked and circling Stiles' hole.

"Der, please." Stiles begged, his voice cracked and broken. "Please."

Derek's growl sent sparks flashing to life along Stiles' rigid length and he couldn't stop the way his body shuddered and buzzed. Derek pressed into Stiles with gentle pressure, gliding smoothly into him with practiced ease.

One finger turned into two into Derek pulling away again long enough to grab the lube from the nightstand. Stiles let Derek manhandle him up the bed, let him stick a pillow under his hips and spread his thighs wide open. Derek knelt between Stiles' spread legs and pushed his fingers back in. All the while he worked Stiles open Derek kept up a steady litany of warm praise and peppered his flushed skin with worshiping kisses.

When Derek finally thrust into Stiles, his cock painfully hard and his body coiled tighter than a spring, Stiles nearly shouted. He locked his legs around Derek, his knees digging roughly into Derek's ribs with every thrust, every punishing snap of hips.

"I love you." Derek gasped between stuttered breaths. "So fucking much it hurts."

"Me too." Stiles moaned, fingers clawing into the high globes of Derek's ass. "I love you, too. Always."

When Stiles came, his cock trapped between them and rubbing deliciously into Derek's abs, his vision flared shimmering gold and red at the edges. Magic and bliss slid through his bloodstream, thick and heavy and spicy-sweet. Derek followed him a few thrusts later, buried in Stiles' body like he never wanted to come out. And, in that moment, he really didn't.

They sprawled out on the bed, sated and surrounded by lingering glitters of magic and orgasmic bliss. Derek's limbs were heavy and too much hassle to move so he was mostly just pinning Stiles to the bed, his face pressed into the other man's chest with no care for the come cooling between them. Stiles carded his fingers through Derek's sweat dampened hair, enjoying the affirming weight of his husband above him.

"If you give me ten minutes I'll carry you to the shower." Derek mumbled, planting a kiss over Stiles' heart.

"No worries." Stiles grinned crookedly down at him, their eyes meeting and affection glowing in both pairs. "I'm not in any hurry."


End file.
